Cairn

A cairn is a man-made stack of rocks memorializing a particular event. Jacob placed one to follow his dream of God. In other countries, such as Scotland, a stack of stones serves as a marker along a path, guiding the way ahead.

That’s what happened to me. An unusual stone took me on a different path.

My stone was a trilobite, a fossil that peered back at me through the microscope in my college geology class. To most, it would’ve been just another rock, but that day, as I examined it more closely under a microscope, the image of the prehistoric animal revealed itself. Like a true cairn, it showed me that I was headed in the wrong direction.

Geology

I first fell in love with physical geology through an introductory class in my freshman year. Throughout the semester each class brought new, practical knowledge that I could associate with the hills, rocks, and water that I passed every day.

What I learned was practical, vital knowledge. What made it even more special was that my geologist professor shared his love for his work, and his enthusiasm helped me love it too.

I understand why I now remember so little about the next geology class I took. I expected it to be like the first class that I loved.

The second class was about fossils and where to find oil. To me those topics were as dry and boring as the professor, and I realized that if I were to make the best of this, I needed a plan. Gradually, I made one. I was already in the earliest possible class.

Step two was to go to class every single time and take plenty of notes. Finally, the essential step was to stay up all night before the test and review, review, and review my notes again. Then without going to bed, I immediately ran to the test location to spill out every single bit of knowledge that was temporarily housed in my short-term memory.

I don’t remember my final grade but somehow, I passed. What was even more amazing was that, despite my painful study methods, I decided geology was the path for me.

My Personal Cairn, Trilobite

I almost immediately met the trilobite in my third class. That trilobite became my cairn, and it was telling me that I was not on the right path.

Almost immediately, I could see that my poor excuse for studying that got me through the last class wasn’t going to work for this one. In the previous class, I could rely on snippets of hastily ‘learned’ information to pass the test.

For this third class, I needed to engage the material and let it wiggle its way into me so that I wasn’t merely someone who took a geology class. I needed to embrace it, like the first professor whose love for his work helped cement the course’s knowledge, transferring from the master to the novice.

Knowing by Heart

I needed to let it change me as I embraced a whole body of knowledge. If I were to succeed, I needed to learn that knowledge by heart.

How do we know something by heart? Something comes to you without you even looking for it. It’s more than simple repetition.

As you embrace knowledge, it embraces you. Over time, it works its way into your heart and soul, prepared to step forth whenever needed. And when it comes, it’s an authentic expression.

For the musician, it makes the difference between a mediocre replaying of notes on a page and being genuinely moved by what’s played. For the athlete, it’s performing a particular movement perfectly, without even being aware.

This type of knowledge is heart-centered, and heart knowledge resonates with the truth inside us.

It tucks itself away until it’s needed. Then, like the deep-sea diver rising through the water to reach the surface, it makes itself known.

Sand

I thought about heart knowledge the other day in my water fitness class.

Someone asked what I would speak on at my next engagement. I planned to talk about how God’s love clings to us despite ourselves, so I gave a single word and response, “sand.”

Just hearing that one word, without any further explanation on my part, half a dozen women simultaneously broke into the same exact song that was tucked away, a song they learned decades earlier as children. Even as children, they knew the wisdom of the lyrics.

“A wise man builds his house upon a rock,” and “a foolish man builds his house upon the sand.”
They knew even then that the foolish man would lose everything in the first big storm that blew his way.

That core theme was impressed upon their hearts. Yet when they stopped to remember the rest of the song, the words never came.

It was the essence of the song, its wisdom, that remained with them through all these years, waiting for its time to speak.

Welcoming the Heart’s Wisdom

Head smarts have their place. They’re like my information dump for my geology test—not always around for the long haul!

The type of understanding that lasts belongs to those who, like my first professor, love what they do and act from the heart.

Heart knowledge burrows deep within our psyche, bonding and staying dormant until it needs to be shared. This knowledge is a heart connection. It brings a richer, fuller life whether it is in the classroom, the boardroom, or the dining room.

Each of us, in some deep place within, holds a song of wisdom longing to be remembered and heard.

Rest assured that it will spring forth just when it’s needed.

Ask. Invite. Welcome that wisdom of the heart.